


The 36 Questions That Lead to Love

by sicsempertyrannis



Series: resolving arcs [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair, but also angst, but trust me, eh, im ignoring the finale, like so much fluff, like the initial idea is kind of silly, the 36 questions that lead to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicsempertyrannis/pseuds/sicsempertyrannis
Summary: "The idea is that mutual vulnerability fosters closeness. To quote the study’s authors, 'One key pattern associated with the development of a close relationship among peers is sustained, escalating, reciprocal, personal self-disclosure.” Allowing oneself to be vulnerable with another person can be exceedingly difficult, so this exercise forces the issue."A few days after the events of 15x19, Jack deposits Cas outside the Bunker freshly human with his grace around his neck. With no big bad to fight and no rush of adrenaline, Dean does what he does best when confronted with his own emotions: he hides. Sam, annoyed by the lack of communication, schemes with Rowena to magically lock Dean and Cas alone in a room together, and they can't leave until they do all of the "36 Questions That Lead to Love."
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: resolving arcs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185968
Comments: 65
Kudos: 589





	The 36 Questions That Lead to Love

**Author's Note:**

> 15x20 didn't happen because of course it didn't. These questions are real! There's a New York Times article about it.

Getting locked in a room with Cas was not something Dean had ever thought about.

God, that was the biggest lie of his life. Not something he would ever admit to thinking about, he mentally amended, especially not in this context.

“Sam!” he yelled, banging on the door. “Let us out.” He didn’t bother yelling Eileen’s name, but knew she was still next to his brother, probably laughing quietly with him.

“This door won’t open until you two do the questions,” Sam replied, not bothering to conceal the mirth in his voice.

“How were you even able to do that?” Dean asked.

“Rowena is just as annoyed with your lack of communication as we are, and she’s in Hell, Dean. I thought you two had fixed this problem.”

They had, until Cas had confessed that he’d been in love with Dean for the past 12 years while sacrificing his life for him, leaving Dean crying alone against a wall for hours. Cas had only just come back three days ago after Jack deposited him outside of the bunker, fresh out of the Empty and with his grace around his neck. Dean had been mid-research for a plan to pull Cas out, and with no grand moment of victory or swell of emotion—just Sam opening a door and a surprised shout—Dean didn’t know what to do, and so he did what he did best: he hid.

The sounds on the other side of the door had faded, leading Dean to realize that Sam and Eileen had been gone for some time now, leaving him staring at the metal door. He turned around and there was Cas, seated at a table that had not been there yesterday with two chairs and a piece of paper. Dressed in one of Dean’s old shirts, worn jeans and a rumpled flannel, Cas looked as human as any of them—that is, if not for the soft blue glow of his grace, casting gentle shadows onto his face.

“Is it really so horrible to be in a room alone with me?” Cas asked.

Dean blanched. “Of course not,” he said, walking over to the table and pulling out a chair. The table was small, barely more than a card table, and his knees were nearly brushing against Cas’. Knowing Rowena, that was intended. Dean cleared his throat, and scooted back a few inches until he could no longer feel Cas’ heat through his clothes.

“I guess we, I guess we start?” Dean said, his voice uplifting near the end. He reached out to the papers at the same time as Cas, and their fingers brushed in the middle. He yanked his hand back and quickly put it on his knee, tapping his fingers nervously. “You can read it.”

Cas fixed him with a flat look, and turned the papers so they faced him. “The 36 Questions That Lead to Love,” he read in a bored voice, only betrayed by the pink tinge of his ears. Dean was sure he wasn’t in a better condition, face as flaming as it was.

“To be able to leave the room, you two have to go through each of these questions, and they will fade from the page once answered. Only when all 36 are done will the door unlock,” Cas continued. He was squinting lightly at the page, and Dean wondered if maybe now that he wasn’t an angel he needed glasses. Cas fiddled with the chain of his grace.

“Aren’t you scared of breaking it?” Dean asked, trying to postpone the questions.

“The chain?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. “It’s made of the same metal as an angel blade; it’s virtually unbreakable.”

Before Dean could speak again, Cas read the first question.

_1\. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?_

Oh, that wasn’t so bad. If the angle of Cas’ head meant anything, then he was thinking the same.

“Jack,” Cas said, after a beat.

“Jack for me too.”

Dean hadn’t seen Jack since he had become god, and he hadn’t asked Cas about it. With a pang, he wished he had been kinder to the kid, or even just asked him to stay. Even all-powerful beings needed a little guidance and some home-cooked food.

“It’s split into three sections,” Cas said. “I’ll keep reading out all the questions for the first section.”

_2\. Would you like to be famous? In what way?_

“I guess not,” Cas said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m already rather famous in Heaven, I don’t need a repeat of that on Earth.”

Dean laughed. “And I’m rather famous on Earth, so what a pair we make.”

Cas gave Dean a fond glance before his eyes darted back down to the paper. A thick feeling filled Dean’s throat.

_3\. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?_

“I don’t really call many people, so no. Maybe I should start? It could help with human rules,” Cas said.

“Don’t. It’ll only stress you out.”

“I take it that means you do?”

At some point Dean had started bouncing his leg and he stopped, looking down at the table before looking back at Cas. He remembered all the times he had talked himself out of calling Cas when Cas was gone, convincing himself that he’d say something—anything—and let slip how he really felt.

“Yeah, it’s just a habit I formed when I’d use to have to call my dad from payphones and stuff. Could never let go of it,” Dean admitted.

The weight of Cas’ gaze on him was heavy, and so Dean cleared his throat and nodded his head towards the paper, signaling Cas to go on. With a hum, Cas acquiesced.

_4\. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?_

“A beach day,” Dean blurted out, breaking the rhythm. “There’s no stress, no apocalypse, no case to worry about. Somewhere warm, like California or Florida. Just you, me, and the sand beneath our toes.”

“Sam isn’t there?” Cas asked.

Dean realized his mistake, and floundered. “He’d probably be out on some serial killer walking tour, or talking about how the sun is bad for your skin.”

“Can I use that for my answer?”  
  


“Ask the paper.”

Cas turned the paper around, and Dean could see the question fading. “I guess you can. Give it here, if you read it and then answer immediately, you’re not actually asking a question. I’ll finish this set.”

He reached over the tiny table to grab the paper, and let their fingers brush together this time. If he couldn’t admit his feelings while magically locked alone in a room with the man he loved, then Dean was going to have to seriously question his life decisions.

_5\. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?_

“I don’t think I’ve ever sung to myself," Cas said. "To someone else? Nora’s baby, when I was human the first time.”

Guilt flashed through Dean. He had barely fought to let Cas stay in the bunker, just kicking him out without helping at all. The sound of Cas breathing in his sleep in their shared motel room that night was one that followed Dean everywhere, for better and for worse.

  
“The last time I sung to myself—or to someone else—was while driving around in Baby,” Dean said, trying to push his thoughts out of his mind. “But it’s—it’s been a while, I haven’t… I haven’t wanted to sing.”

An all-too familiar ache built up inside him. Every time Cas died it wrecked Dean, but none more so than the last.

“Next question,” Dean said.

_6\. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?_

A snort ripped its way out of Cas, and Dean’s eyes widened in surprise; he’d never heard Cas laugh like that.

“I’m very old,” Cas said. “I don’t think these questions were designed with former angels in mind.”

Dean laughed. “I never even thought I’d get to be that old. Can I say neither? I’m 41, and I know I complain about aches and pains, but at least they’re mine.”

“I hope you get to be that old,” Cas said earnestly. “I hope you get to be even older. You’ve earned it.”  
  


The flash of blue caught Dean’s eye, hanging just above Cas’ heart, and his mouth felt stuffed with cotton. He looked back at Cas’ eyes, and was momentarily amazed by just how blue they still were, even without the grace. “Thanks, Cas,” he choked out.

_7\. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?  
  
_

Cas just held Dean’s gaze, and silence settled over the room. Dean felt dizzy, like he was mid-head rush. “Yes,” Cas answered simply. They both knew what he meant.

“I—I,” Dean stammered, before he shook his head and tried again. “I used to. Not anymore. I think I’m more ready to live now.”

It was a non-answer on both sides, but the question faded from the paper anyways.

_8\. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common._

“We both love Jack. We both want to be better parents. We both follow our morals,” Cas listed rapid-fire. Evidently, he had put thought into this subject beforehand.

“We both like food,” Dean said, going for the low-hanging fruit in an attempt to emulate Cas’ speed. By the tightening of Cas’ shoulders, he could tell that the effort wasn’t appreciated. “We have the same kids, and we would do anything for the other,” he finished softly. Cas relaxed, and Dean felt a spark of victory.

_9\. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?_

“You,” Cas said.

“It’s you for me too.”  
  


“Dean, you don’t have to—“

“No,” Dean interrupts. “I said what I said. I once wrote that you returned me to life, and I really meant it, Cas. I really meant it.”

Silence hung over them again, only the sound of their breathing, the clink of Cas’ chain, and the tap of Dean’s fingers filling the room.

“Next question,” Dean breathed out, breaking the moment.

_10\. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?  
  
_

Dean slapped the paper down on the table between them, barely able to look at it. He closed his eyes and began to count, struggling to control his breathing and the rising tension inside him. When he got like this, he hesitated to even call it anger, or any emotion at all. It was a physical feeling, like he was stuck in a vacuum or he was a can slowly being crushed. He hit ten, and opened his eyes to see Cas staring straight at him, concern written plainly on his face.

“Sorry,” Dean said, forcing his voice to be even. “I don’t know where that came from. I wish I could have been a brother to Sam, not a parent. I think I’d know him better.”

Dean looked down at the paper, but the question was still inky black against the white.

“Cas, I think you have to go,” he said.

“But I was never raised,” Cas protested.

“Still,” Dean pressed. Screw him, he was curious.

Cas tilted his head, staring at the wall just past Dean’s face, eyes narrows.

“Less lobotomies,” Cas settled on.

Whatever Dean was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Lobotomies?” he echoed.

A corner of Cas’ mouth lifted. “I’m sure there’s a more angelic term. Jedi mind-wipe, maybe? It’s correction, apparently I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.”

It was Cas’ term to usher Dean along to the next question, and he could do nothing but obey.

_11\. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible._

“This isn’t even a question,” Dean protested. For a second he held his breath, worried that Rowena’s looping scrawl would appear to tell him to fuck off. Nothing happened, and he relaxed. He didn’t want anyone to be listening in.

“I don’t know if I can fit everything into four minutes,” Cas said, pulling his phone from his pocket and starting a timer.

There was silence, and then he looked up at Dean, a playful look on his face. “In the beginning, God cre—“

“Dude!” Dean said, laughing and reaching over to push Cas. “Take this seriously.”

Before Dean could remove his hand, Cas caught his wrist and held it just above his chest. Dean’s heart pounded, hot and heavy as a drum, and he swallowed. “My life started with you, Dean, I’m not sure there’s much you don’t already know.”

They stared at each other. And stared. And stared. The moment felt a mile-wide, like it could span on for forever. At least until the timer on Cas’ phone rang, and they were both startled back into themselves. Cas released Dean’s wrist and Dean’s rubbed at it, longing for a ghost of Cas’ touch.

“My turn,” Dean said, voice thin, and he braced himself by staring behind Cas’ head. He started with the fire, how even now he could recall exactly how hot it felt and his desperation to get out with his brother safe and sound. He went on to his year of silence, and how he didn’t quite understand what was going on, only he knew he’d never see his mom again. At that he choked up for a moment, before pressing on.

Dean spoke about growing up, forced to play brother, mother, father, teacher, and doctor to Sam, stretching himself into so many roles he didn’t quite know how to be just Dean. He discussed Sam leaving to college, how he was forced to hunt alone until his dad went missing, and the search to find him. The grief after he was gone, but also the desperate and wild relief he felt now that his dad was finally out of the picture. Dean told Cas about how it felt to hold his brother’s dead body in his arms that first time, what it was like to sell his soul, that final year, and he had just gotten to being dragged to hell when the alarm on Cas’ phone rang and Dean’s time was up. Fitting, his story ended just as he was reborn.

Logically, Dean knew that Cas already knew all of this, having touched his soul and rebuilt his body and all of that. Still, this felt new and achingly vulnerable. He steeled himself and looked back at Cas, and saw vulnerability reflected right back.

“Thank you for telling me this, Dean,” Cas said, voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you for listening,” Dean replied, unable to come up with a quip. The air felt too warm and too cold at the same time, the room pressing in at all sides. Talking about his childhood was something Dean never did unless he was drunk or ready to wield every pop culture reference in his armory. What he just did, stripped of any metaphor and irony, just the truth laid bare, it felt like too much. This was all too much.

Cas, seemingly sensing his trepidation, gently took the paper out of Dean’s white-knuckled grip, and read the next question.

_12\. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?_

“That’s easy,” Cas said, placing the paper down flat on the table. “To be able to heal you—and your brother—again. I don’t regret removing my grace, but I don’t want to ever see you hurt.”

Dean couldn’t breathe.

“Nothing,” he lied. “There’s nothing more in my life I want.”

The question faded, and they were done with set one. Cas shrank back in his seat, and Dean stared at his hands rested on the table, palms curled up and towards the ceiling. Whatever had been building there between them, within Dean, was gone, and silence hung heavy as a noose.

||

There was a knock on the door, a quick open-and-shut, and a plate was set on the ground.

“Hey,” Dean yelled. “How come you’re suddenly able to open the door.”  
  


“I’m just giving you food,” Sam replied, voice muffled. “Rowena and I want you to talk, not starve.”

It had been about five minutes since Dean had fucked it all up, and he and Cas hadn’t said a word to each other yet. He glanced at Cas, who was looking anywhere that wasn’t him, and got out of his chair to see what was on the plate.

“Peanut butter sandwiches. Really, Sam?” Dean muttered, carrying it over to the table and setting it down between them. If only they had been let out so Dean could cook, and he could fix his mistakes over warm food.

For a moment, it seemed as if Cas was going to ignore the food, before his stomach growled, deciding for him. With a faint flush to his cheeks, Cas grabbed one and took a hesitant bite.

“Doesn’t taste like molecules this time,” he said, still chewing.

Dean laughed softly. This situation was still salvageable, of course it was. You don’t tell someone you love them, just to take it back when they can’t get over themselves. Cas has known Dean for 12 years, known him better than anyone else in his life, they could do this. Dean could do this.

“Maybe when we’re out of here I could cook you a burger. Or anything, really. Well, it depends on what we have in the kitchen, but—“

“You’re rambling,” Cas said, finishing his sandwich.

“Yeah,” Dean admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Set two?”

“You need to eat.”  
  


“I’ll eat while we talk.” It would give him something to do with his hands.

Cas nodded. “I’ll read this set.”

_13\. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?_

“If I get over this inability to speak my mind, just completely let go of it,” Dean answered truthfully, stuffing half his sandwich in his mouth.

“I’d like to know that too.”

From anyone else’s mouth, it would have been a low-blow, but this was Cas. He knew how to use sarcasm, even if he faltered sometimes, and this wasn’t it.

He finished his sandwich, then looked at the plate, trying to figure out what to do with it.

"I'll put it by the door," Cas said, doing just that before retaking his seat at the table.

_14\. Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?_

“Yes,” Dean said, the words punching their way out of him.

Cas studied Dean. “I did it.” He glanced down to read the next question, but Dean stopped him.

“It’s because I’m afraid,” he said.

“Afraid of what?”

“Of you leaving.”

“Dean,” Cas said, furrowing his brow. “I don’t want to leave. Besides, you already know how to ask me to stay.”  
  


“I’m not just talking about that,” Dean admitted. “You’re human now, Cas. There are a thousand ways to leave that you can’t control, and I can’t—I can’t…” He let his words hang there, silently pleading that Cas knew what he was trying to convey. Cas’ face shifted from confusion to something else, something deeper, and he read the next question.

_15\. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?_

That was easy. “Sam,” Dean said.

“Jack.”

_16\. What do you value most in a friendship?_

“Loyalty,” Dean said.

“Trust,” Cas said.

There was a history there, they both felt it, but—and Dean hoped he wasn’t imagining it—there was also the promise of a future, of wounds long healed.

_17\. What is your most treasured memory?_

Dean knew what his answer should be. Cas, standing in front of him, eyes filled with tears and practically glowing, telling him he loves him, that he’s always loved him. But every time Dean revisited his memory, he could never seem to end it while it was still sweet, and had to watch once again as the man he loved died.

“Being in Dodge with you, and you indulging me by wearing that fake cowboy hat,” Dean said instead. It had been easy to pass off his excitement as merely being because of the cowboys, but that wasn’t it at all. Getting Cas back had been his ultimate win, and he needed to celebrate.

“I’d say mine is the same.”

“Really? You’re ridiculously old and your fondest memory is dressing up like cowboys with me?” Dean prodded.

Cas smiled. “Well, you know what they say. ‘I’m your huckleberry.’” He didn’t put on the accent this time, just let the deep gravel of his voice resonate throughout the room. Dean swallowed hard.

“Read the next question,” Dean said, voice a pitch deeper.

_18\. What is your most terrible memory?_

His first thought was the exact same as last time. Cue running from Billie, a confession, and watching Cas die. It always came back to watching Cas die. And so Dean told him.

“Watching you die,” Dean said, holding eye contact with Cas. “Every time I’ve ever had to watch you die. Cas, I can’t—“

Dean was in love with him. He knew that. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he knew the exact moment he realized. At night, outside of a cabin, watching a knife protrude from Cas’ chest and the blinding glow of grace, followed by nothing at all. Dean had been in love with him, and then it was too late because he had to burn him.

Then Cas came back, and Dean had been happy—been ecstatic, even—but Cas came back in a distinctly angel way. Annoying ancient cosmic beings was something Dean was familiar with, but he hadn’t even known the Empty was a place that existed, much less a being that could make death deals. He hadn't known how angels felt, hadn't known how Cas felt, and so he just kept it to himself. When the Empty had taken him again, and Cas came back again, Dean didn’t know what to do. It was terrifying to get everything you’ve ever wanted.

Coming back to himself, Dean realized how long it had been, and how Cas was still waiting on him to finish his sentence.

“You’ve never seen me when you’re dead, Cas,” Dean finished. “It’s not something I can shake.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas apologized.

“Don’t be.”

“I think mine would be what Naomi made me do to you,” Cas said quietly. Dean waited for him to say more, but Cas was done, and when Dean stretched his neck he could see that the question had faded. But Dean knew it was okay, because they had more time.

_19\. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?_

A laugh bubbled out of Dean, coming from deep in his chest. Cas stared in amusement, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Who made these questions?” Dean exclaimed, still holding back his delight. “I already played that game. I’m glad I didn’t change anything.”

“It led you to 40 years in hell,” Cas said.

“It led me to you.”

Cas’ mouth hung open, forming an O-shape. Dean did his best not to stare.

“Well,” Cas said after a beat. “I don’t think I’d change anything either, but I’d hope those around me would.”

Dean nodded at him, and silent communication passed between the two. They both knew where this was going.

_20\. What does friendship mean to you?_

“Did we not just do this one?” Dean asked, mostly to himself. “Give me a second.”

What did friendship mean to Dean? Cas was his best friend, no doubt about it, but there was always something between them setting them aside. He recalled shamelessly geeking out with Charlie, something he hadn’t been able to do when he was young. He felt for a moment the kindness he had found in Donna, and the shared love of good food he had with Jody. Most of all, he remembered sitting side by side on recliners with Cas in the Dean Cave, simultaneously cursing himself and praising himself for not buying a couch. The art of watching something out of the corner of his eye was long practiced by Dean, and he barely ever ended up paying attention to the movie, instead admiring how the scenes flickered across Cas’ face. There was always a curious ache inside him, begging him to reach out and touch, like sunflowers turning towards the sun. Dean swallowed long and hard.

“Companionship,” he said. “You?”

“A place to call home.”

_21\. What roles do love and affection play in your life?_

Dean whistled. “Wow. Complicated ones. It’s hard to let people show me those things, I’m so used to being the caretaker that I can’t let go of the habit.” There was more he could say, but he wanted Cas to speak; he was interested in seeing an ex-angel’s perspective on this, but more so, he was interested in seeing Cas’ perspective on this.

“Learning how to show love and affection has been one of the greatest joys of my life,” Cas said simply, enunciating every word.

Cas’ voice echoed in his head. He wanted to reach out and do something, anything, but instead he gestured towards the paper.

_22\. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items._

“Does this mean only one of us has to go twice,” Dean asked with a wry smile.

The bitch face appeared, indicating that he was tired of Dean’s shit. “Dean, you are going to be the one who goes twice," Cas said. Dean put his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “You’re always so willing to try.”

“How bright your soul is.”

“Your morals, sometimes it feels like you’re the only good spot in the world.”

“How deeply you feel everything.”

“The way your tilt your head,” Dean said.

They had been trading answers rapid-fire, but Cas paused, studying Dean’s face instead of reading the next question. He opened his mouth, and one-by-one Dean could feel the petals inside him unfurl, ready to reach out and—

“Ow,” Cas said, flinching and bringing his hand up to his eye. The chair clanged on the ground, and Dean was at Cas’ side immediately, heart pounding in his throat. Rowena was the queen of Hell, after all, and she had no reason to like them. Maybe there was a time-limit and they were taking too long and they were never going to leave this room.

“What is it?” Dean asked, voice tense.

“I think there’s something stuck in my eye,” Cas mumbled, still wincing and rubbing at his eye.

Dread was replaced by giddy relief, and Dean laughed in spite of himself. “I think you have an eyelash stuck, that’s something that happens to humans. Let me see.”

He took Cas’ hand by the palm and removed it from his face, leaning in to find the offending eyelash. Dean was barely breathing as he cleared the eyelash from where it had been balancing on Cas’ waterline.

“Here.” Dean’s voice was hoarse and his face felt hot. “Blow on it, make a wish.”

“Why would I make a wish?” Their faces were still so close together.

“It’s tradition.”

Their eyes were locked as Cas moved forward an inch and blew the eyelash off of Dean’s finger. He was acutely aware of their positioning in the room; Dean, half bent over Cas and barely inches away, and Cas seated with his legs spread wide to accommodate Dean’s closeness. If they hadn’t been locked in a room together, this would be when Sam walked in with a “so get this” leaving them to awkwardly spring apart.

“Next question,” Dean said, pulling back without breaking eye contact. He moved to his side of the table and picked up his chair, seating himself. Their knees were brushing once again, but Dean let it happen.

_23\. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?_

Normally, this would be when Dean froze up, closing up to himself and the world, but the warmth of Cas’ knee pressed against his made him want to melt.

“We could be closer, and we could be warmer,” Dean admitted, studying his hands on the table. “There’s so much pain and anger I’ve held onto from my childhood, from everything that’s happened to me and Sammy. It wasn’t happier than most other people’s, not by a long shot, but I had fun with Sam, and I loved my dad, despite all that he put me through.” He looked back at Cas, and was steadied by his gaze.

“I wouldn’t say that my ‘childhood’ was either of those things, because I was a celestial being who sprung out of existence fully formed to be a soldier of the lord,” Cas said, using quotation marks Dean thought were long gone. Dean laughed, and a warm feeling passed between the two. “But the angels aren’t my actual family. Jack is, Claire is, Sam is, you are. Maybe it’s hard to be close and warm with god, but I’m sure that Jack wouldn’t mind coming down for a family dinner every once in a while.”

_24\. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?_

“I don’t want to answer this one,” Dean said. His clothes felt too tight, like he was choking again.

“You have to. It’s the last in the set,” Cas replied, gently urging him on. His shoulders were tense, and he looked hesitant, much less open than he had been only moments before. Dean remembered what had happened last time he freaked out like this, and he forced himself to breathe.

“I think there was a lot more of her in me than my father ever wanted there to be,” Dean said. “After she died, my dad was not a religious man, but the way he talked about getting revenge for her, it was like he was worshipping her and I was too young to be able to resist. I’m glad I got to know her as a person, not a figure.”

It was all that he could give, and he found that something had settled within him.

“I don’t have a mother,” Cas said, breaking what was left of the tension.

They laughed together and Dean leaned forward in his seat, pressing his knee more against Cas'. They were done with set two, and Dean had managed to fix his problem and more. Now there were only 12 questions standing in the way of him and getting what he wanted.

|||

There was no plate at the door to break up the sets this time, and so it was just Dean and Cas staring at each other. Cas was smiling, softly, and Dean was sure his face was an exact mirror. There was a giddy tension underneath his skin.

“Next set,” Dean said, reaching towards the papers in the middle. Cas stopped him by grabbing his wrist, smoothing his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand.

“Dean,” he said, almost too low for him to hear. His voice was filled with warmth, and his eyes shone as bright as his grace,

“We have to finish this set, Cas. Only way to break Rowena’s spell.”

“Is it really so horrible to be in a room alone with me?” Cas teased, echoing his words from the beginning of the day. Dean’s hand was still pinned under Cas and he flipped it, interlacing their fingers.

“Read the questions, Cas,” he said. Dean felt tense, ready to jump up at any moment; he needed this to be done. Cas squinted his eyes at him, and then removed his hand and grabbed the paper.

_25\. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling …”_

“Do we alternate?” Cas asked.

“Sure. I’ll go first.” He thought for a moment. Know a guy for twelve years, but the second you’re asked to make a comparison, all thought leaves your head. “We are both in this room feeling… feeling… nervous. Feeling nervous.”

Cas eyes widened. “We are both in this room feeling… excited?” he said, voice uplifting near the end. Dean was feeling more than a little excited, the warmth of Cas’ knee turning into a blazing heat even through two layers of denim. He shifted in his seat.

“We both have hurt each other,” Dean stated.

“We both want to make sure it never happens again,” Cas said.

“We are both remembering that night in the dungeon.”

“Yes, we both are.”

Cas glanced down at the paper, and Dean guessed that the question had faded. The truth of their statements was thick in the air, but it no longer felt like it was hanging between them, trying to push them apart. There was a gravity drawing him in towards Cas, and he leaned forward to better hear the next question.

_26\. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share …”_

“A life,” Dean said.

“Me too.”

Reaching across the table with his right hand, Dean grabbed Cas’ left, gripping it tightly. He rested their intertwined hands on the table between them, barely able to glance away from Cas’ face. Cas, now that he was one-handed and still not quite used to being a human, laid the papers on the table to be able to better use them. He cleared his throat, and Dean was pleased to see the faint blush creeping up his neck as Cas fiddled with the vial holding his grace, moving it back and forth on the chain.

_27\. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know._

That I love you, Dean thought.

“We’re hunters. You know this” Dean said. “Another easy one.”

“Dean I… I have something to confess,” Cas said. Dean’s heart stuttered to a stop inside his chest. “I’m a fallen angel.”

“You ass,” Dean protested, squeezing Cas’ hand. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Well that would be annoying, because I already saved you from one,” Cas said deadpan, squeezing Dean’s hand right back.

It was more fun for them now that they both knew what was coming. It felt like they were hanging out like old times, but what had once been tainted with dread and shame on Dean’s part was being replaced by rising anticipation.

_28\. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met._

Cas answered before Dean could think of a response. “I love how when someone makes you feel something very deeply you can’t even bear to look at them.”

Was he really that transparent? Dean remembered a night years and years ago, Cas still dressed in hospital whites asking him for the plan. A wild feeling, one he had been unable to name, rose up inside of him, and all he knew was that he needed to look away before he said something to ruin the moment. Then it was the memory of giving back the cassette tape, and the mantra of _don’t look at him don’t look at him_ inside his mind, before he lost everything and was shocked into a personal revelation. Even now, he struggled to hold Cas’ gaze as he mentally noted that the question said like, not love.

“I love how once you make up your mind, you stick to it completely,” Dean said.

The responding grin was almost blinding.

_29\. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life._

Dean quickly launched into a story from his teenage years about a movie theater, a broken slushie machine, and his high school at the time’s mascot that left both of them in near tears. The goal, as it almost always was when he was around Cas, was to get him to pay attention to Dean, to just watch.

“Okay, your turn,” Dean said. “I’ve never told anyone about that, and Sammy has been sworn into secrecy.”  
  


“Then I’m glad to be part of the club,” Cas said. He thought for a moment, before wincing to himself. “Do you remember the night we met at the barn?”

Dean nodded, flashing lights filling his mind’s eye.

“All that shaking… that wasn’t a display of power. I was a little too eager to talk to ‘the Michael Sword’ and prove myself, and I messed up,” he admitted.

Dean cackled. “We can blame it on the lobotomies.” He reached out with his left hand, his right still preoccupied, and turned the paper around to read the next question, eager to finish the set.

_30\. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?_  
  


“Oh,” Cas said. His eyes went distant for a moment, and he traced one of the lines on Dean’s palm. “Last person I cried in front of was you. By myself? Probably late last night or early this morning.”

Guilt pushed its way into Dean’s chest and he winced, before pushing it back down. “You know when, Cas. You were there for the first one, and after you were gone, after I just laid there for hours and hours, I was dry. Numb. I didn’t know what else to do, and we still had Chuck to fight.”

A thought occurred to him. “Cas, you know that I didn’t give up, right? I was never going to leave you. Hell, when Jack dropped you off I was in the library, researching ways to pull someone from the Empty. I needed to make a game plan, and there was no time to cry.” At some point, he had tightened his grip around Cas’ hand, and he relaxed it but didn’t let go. He cleared his throat, and then leaned over to see the next question.

_31\. Tell your partner something that you liked about them already._

“Your aliases,” Dean said.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas said, each word packed with emotion like it had been building up inside him, turning into a tsunami crashing out.

“That’s not,” Dean stuttered, glancing down at the paper. The question faded; it counted. To clear the tension, Cas read the next question.

_32\. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?_

“You dying,” Dean said, letting the grief fill him for a moment. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Cas’ hand on his skin and the knee pressed against his own. They were both here, alive and safe, and so, so close to having more.

“Likewise,” Cas said.

_33\. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?_

Cas looked at him expectantly, but Dean couldn’t say it just yet, not when there were still questions left. He needed to speak his truth with nothing pushing down on him, nothing waiting in the future.

“Can we leave this one for the end?” Dean asked hesitantly.

The hand on top of his own stilled and Cas’ shoulders fell. “Of course,” he said, and moved to remove his hand. Dean stopped him by tightening his grip, silently pleading with Cas to trust him. Cas’ hand relaxed, and he gave a short nod.

_34\. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?_

“Well, I already saved my brother,” Dean joked. “Probably family photos.”

Cas hummed quietly. “I always carry it on me, but if I didn’t then I'd say mixtape you gave me.”

“That barely counts, isn’t it the only thing you own?”

“Dean,” Cas said, tilting his head to the side. “Even if I owned a thousand things, it would still be my most treasured possession.”

_35\. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?_

“Sam,” Dean stated. “And you.”

“I don’t even think it’s possible for Jack to die,” Cas said. Dean knew what was hidden underneath those words. They were still holding hands, and Dean moved on to the next question, barely able to stay in his seat and keep his voice steady.

_36\. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen._

“Rowena,” Dean said to the paper, before Cas could open his mouth. “I don’t know how your magic works, and there seems to be a lot of loopholes in this, so I’m going to answer 33 and 36 by just saying it again and again”

He looked at Cas, studied him really. Took note of the way his shoulders moved up and down when he breathed, how nice his hand looked against Dean’s. He could do this, he knew he could.

“Castiel,” Dean said, and heard Cas' breath hitch. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before” The words came tumbling out of him and he couldn’t stop, but he didn’t want to stop. “I’m not just talking about when you told you told me you loved me, I mean every single before. When I took over my body from Michael. When you called me when you came back after Lucifer killed you. When you nearly died from that poison. When Lucifer finally stopped possessing you. When I hurt you with the Mark of Cain. When I saw you when you were human. When we were in purgatory. When I saw you and you didn’t remember me. When I just left you in that ring of fire. When we got kicked out of that brothel and I had never laughed so hard. Hell, I should have told you that I loved you as I stabbed that knife into your heart. Because I did, because I do. I love you.”

The words rang out between them, settling over the room like morning dew. Without noticing he had stood during his monologue and he had braced himself against the table, leaning on his hands. Cas was sitting and just staring up at Dean, tears in his eyes and mouth hung open.

“I love you too,” Cas said finally, and it was all Dean needed. He reached over the divide, grabbed the chain of Cas’ grace, and yanked, their lips colliding in the middle less like a kiss and more like a punch, filled with every emotion Dean had ever held towards Cas that he had forced himself to hide.

The metal was cool underneath his fingers, and he was a little disappointed that it wasn’t the blue tie, but he filed that fact away for later in favor of shifting the angle, slotting their lips together into something less bruising but just as passionate.

He felt a hand run through his hair, tightening at nape of his neck and holding his head firmly in place. A shiver went through Dean, and he groaned against Cas’ mouth.

“I don’t think you actually responded to the question,” Dean teased, pulling back just enough to speak. Cas scoffed and chased him, closing the gap once more. The table between them was pressing into Dean’s legs, and the distance was still too much, not enough heat on him. Cas evidently thought the same as indicated by the way he pulled back, eyes dark and mouth red. Holding eye contact with Dean, he walked around the table and removed the chain around his neck, placing it instead around Dean’s. The clink of grace against Dean’s chest made him pause.

“You’re trusting me with this?” he asked, momentarily embarrassed by how wrecked he sounded from just a kiss.

Cas paused in front of Dean. “Of course,” he said, like it was a given. He leaned in to continue the kiss, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“You still have to respond. If the question doesn’t fade, we can’t get out of here,” Dean said.

Cas grinned. “Who said anything about leaving?” He moved forward and Dean moved with him step-by-step until he was pressed against the wall. Cas reached out, brushing his hand against Dean’s cheek, and Dean turned his head to kiss his palm.

“May I?” Cas asked in reverence, like a man on his knees. 

“Of course,” Dean echoed, closing his eyes and leaning in.

(The last question had, in fact, faded, but neither of them took the time to check. Dean and Cas weren’t leaving that room for a long, long time.)

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe me if I told you I wrote this in less than 24 hours? Tell me your thoughts I loved writing this even if it was difficult at times! I hope they stayed in character throughout this. But seriously, I'm almost begging for comments. 
> 
> blacksailsnby on tumblr


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